The Best Man in Texas (7 page)

“By which you mean something so slow that we barely have to move, and you can just put your arms around me and sway?”

He grinned. “You say it like that’s a bad thing.”

The current song ended and was replaced with a feisty, up-tempo number. Giff winced.

“Don’t worry,” Brooke said laughingly. “I wouldn’t—Uh-oh.” Everett had released Grace and was now dancing with someone else, a brunette. An extremely pretty brunette. Across the lawn Didi had shot to her feet, a stormy expression on her face.

Meg stood too, placing a hand on their mother’s shoulder.
Thank you, Megan, I take back every single uncharitable thing I ever thought about you.
Relieved that potential disaster had been averted, Brooke turned back to Giff but didn’t get a chance to say anything before she was interrupted by Grace.

“Giff, darling, the Petersens are leaving. I thought you might like to see them out?” she suggested. Her smile at Brooke was conspiratorial. “As I’m sure you know, Dermott Petersen is a major shareholder in two large corporations and Giff has been campaigning for their business for several years now.”

“Right.” Giff started up the steps, then hesitated when he saw Jake coming out of the house. “Perfect timing.”

Jake raised his eyebrows in question. “For?”

“Brooke was just saying how much she wanted to dance, but unfortunately, duty calls.”

“Unfortunately,” Brooke echoed, shooting Giff an amused but pointed look.

“No one ever had to twist my arm to get me to dance with a beautiful woman,” Jake said. He held out a hand. “Shall we?”

“I’ll be back soon,” Giff promised over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time.

Jake shook his head. “Work, work, work. Even at his own party.”

“He has an admirable work ethic,” Brooke said tolerantly. “And a gut-level aversion to the dance floor.”

Jake laughed with her as they cut through the crowd. She experienced an odd jolt when he put a hand on her waist—this wasn’t like the freestyle club dancing they’d done at the concert. This was actual hold-your-partner-in-your-arms contact, and it made her pulse a little fluttery.

Trying to mask her sudden shyness over their proximity, she stared up at him. “You look good. B-better, I mean. Than when I saw you the other day. I’m so glad to hear that little girl’s prognosis has improved.”

Jake nodded, his eyes somber for a second, before brightening. “You look good, too. Different but good.”

“Different?” Exhilaration pulsed through her when he spun her out in a quick circle.

“Darker,” he clarified with a glance down at her black cocktail dress. “I’ve seen you in vivid yellow, red and that pink sweater you were wearing the other day at the station.”

Brooke chuckled. “You hadn’t struck me as a guy who paid so much attention to women’s clothes.”

“I’m not.”

Unsure how to respond, she was relieved when he began speaking again instead of letting them lapse into an awkward silence.

“You look great tonight,” he said. “I was trying, somewhere in there, to pay you a compliment. I guess I’m just more used to seeing you as bright and colorful.”

That caught her so unawares she accidentally squashed his toes beneath her feet. Bright and colorful?
Me?
She’d grown up feeling staid, if not downright stuffy, compared to the rest of her family. The only person who’d ever called her “bright” had been a college professor who’d been referring solely to her academic potential.

“Brooke?”

“Sorry. You just surprised me. You have a knack for that,” she added wryly.

“Oh.” He hesitated. “That’s not a good thing, is it? As I recall, you hate surprises.”

She bit her lip. “I’m discovering that I like some more than others.”

Their gazes met, and she was struck anew by how gorgeous his eyes were. Was it inappropriate to notice that? She quickly glanced away, looking past his shoulder.

“Hey!” Relief bubbled up within her. “There’s Kres.”

Kresley and Dane Flynn were only a few feet away on the dance floor, moving slower than the beat but both smiling.

“A friend, I take it?”

Brooke nodded. “Good friend. Also my editor. I was
looking for her just before Giff and I ran into you.” This gave her an excellent excuse to extricate herself from Jake’s embrace. Despite how much she’d enjoyed dancing with him— Well, that was the problem, wasn’t it? How much she’d enjoyed dancing with him.

She pulled away abruptly. “Kresley!”

The Flynns waved and left the dance floor, meeting up with her along the side. Kresley was gorgeous tonight in a deep green maternity dress; standing next to her, Brooke recalled Jake’s words and wondered if perhaps she did look a bit drab. Tonight she was supposed to
celebrating.
Maybe something more festive—

“You must be Jake?” Kresley tilted her head, regarding him with a puckish smile. “Kresley Flynn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Brooke shot Kresley a warning glance that didn’t entirely match her friendly tone. “Kres, Dane, this is Jake McBride, Giff’s friend and our best man.”

“Nice to meet you.” As he was shaking hands with both of them, Brooke heard her name being called.

Meg was barreling down on them. “Brooke! Hey, Kresley, Dane.” She paused, her voice becoming a purr. “Jake. I don’t mean to interrupt, but can I borrow my sister for a moment?”

“I’ll be right back,” Brooke said, hoping that was true and whatever emergency Meg was telegraphing with her eyes would be quickly settled. “Will you guys let Giff know, in case he comes looking for me?”

She barely waited for their nods before trailing Meg toward the house and up the deck stairs.

“Mom’s in meltdown mode,” Meg said. “I took her
glass of Riesling away and suggested she go inside to freshen up.”

If they hadn’t arrived together—a decision Brooke was seriously rethinking in retrospect—she might suggest that Meg take their mother home. Or, if Didi and Everett would act like adults who hadn’t spent Brooke’s entire life creating drama,
they
could go home together.

The sniffling coming from behind the closed door let Brooke know which first-floor guest bathroom her mother occupied. She took a deep breath and knocked. “Mom?”

Didi opened the door and peered out with reddened eyes. Streaks of mascara were beginning to smudge the tops of her cheeks. “It’s a l-lovely party, Brooke. And Grace is every bit as wonderful as you’ve described her.”

Brooke sighed. “You don’t look like you’re having a ‘lovely’ time. Maybe you and Dad just need to talk, then you’ll feel better. I could go find him. You two could go home and—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t
dream
of ruining your father’s fun,” Didi said tightly. “Haven’t you seen him out there, flirting up women half his age? After I gave him the best years of my life! Do you know how hard it is for a middle-aged woman to start over again?”

Throughout their youth, Meg and Brooke had been warned multiple times that their parents might be separating. Should Brooke actually worry that this time there might be a grain of truth in the sentiment?
Figures. They split up the night of my engagement party. Maybe they
can find a way to get divorce papers served during my wedding.

Brooke was instantly appalled at herself. Was she really becoming so cynical?

“Mom, I love you. You know I do. But—”

“But I’m being a dark cloud, aren’t I? Everyone is so happy for you and Giff. The guests have been talking about what a cute couple you are all night. People told me how pretty the wedding invitations were, and it made me realize—I never had any of that, the fuss, the big day. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that Everett and I have had so many problems. He never even thought I was worth all that effort. Our wedding was so…expedient.”

“Is it possible your mood is coloring your memory of the event? You’ve always told me how passionate and romantic it was to be caught up in the moment,” Brooke pointed out.

“Yes, well.” Didi gave her a bitter little smile. “I guess we should just be glad you learned from my mistakes and won’t let yourself get caught up in romance.”

Brooke blinked.
She has a point.
But what did it say about a bride-to-be who, at her own engagement party, was feeling grateful not to succumb to romance?

Brooke found Giff at the bottom of the steps in the backyard and flashed him a wan smile. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

He took her hand. “I was just coming to find you. Thought maybe you’d been kicking up your heels on the dance floor this whole time.”

“No, but it looks like Jake and the Flynns are still over in that area. We should visit with them before Kresley gets tired and has to bail. Actually, I might not be able to stay too much later myself. Meg and I probably need to take Mom home.” She tried to keep the weariness out of her voice, but could tell by the gentle concern in Giff’s expression that she hadn’t succeeded.

“I’m so sorry your parents are arguing,” he told her. “It must be difficult for you. But I’m sure they’ll have everything smoothed over soon.”

“You’re probably right.” Brooke bit her lip. “To hear Mom tell it, this fight is the big one, but then, that’s how she always sees them. Thank God we’ll never have to worry about this kind of angst and drama in our marriage! You’re so…
stable.
”

“Wow. I sound very dashing,” he said wryly.

Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I meant it as high praise.”

“Brooke, you’re back!” Kresley had kicked off her shoes and was sitting at a table with her husband and Jake. “Jake was just telling us about how he got inspired to do his road trips.”

Taking a seat, Brooke glanced questioningly at Jake. He’d claimed before that he liked to go wherever the spirit moved him—she hadn’t known there was a specific inspiration behind it.

“When I was in the Middle East, I met a kid from Kentucky,” Jake explained for Brooke’s benefit. “He was from a town of about three hundred, had never been away from home before and was scared. Told me once that it would be ironic if he died for his country because he’d never
seen
any of it. We both made it back in one piece, and once I got home to Texas, I realized I was a lot like him.

“I’ve lived my entire life here, and while I’m in no rush to change that, I do want to visit all fifty states, make an effort to see the country I served. My next trip is to Tennessee. I have four consecutive days off starting Thursday, and a buddy of mine is flying me to Chattanooga. There’s a tourist spot there where you’re supposed to be able to see seven different states.”

“He’s already been to Alaska,” Kresley told Brooke.

“The military made that part easy,” he interjected. “I was on a base there for six months.”

“And he plans to go to Hawaii soon,” Kresley added.
“With those two out of the way, the other forty-eight seem comparatively simple.”

Jake laughed. “Comparatively. People forget just how big this country is.”

“They do,” Kresley said, sitting straighter in her chair. “Thanks to Twitter and Facebook, you can know exactly what people a thousand miles away are doing every minute. You know, I think this would make an excellent human-interest piece for the lifestyles section! Local man, a community hero, no less—”

“Oh, boy, she’s on a roll now,” Dane said affectionately.

Ignoring her husband’s interjection, Kresley continued, “A former soldier, trying to get to know America.”

Jake’s eyes widened and he fidgeted uncomfortably, eliciting a laugh from Brooke. The man willingly walked into infernos but seemed nervous about having a story done on him.

He scowled in her direction. “You think it’s silly, don’t you? An article about me?”

“Not at all,” she hastily clarified. “I was laughing at…something else. I think the story could turn out really well.”

Giff was nodding his agreement. “Maybe you could even write it, Brooke. You’re always saying you love the opportunities to do more than weddings.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “The woman about to get married doesn’t like weddings?”

“I like weddings just fine,” she grumbled, trying to
ignore her earlier misgivings that she should be more excited about all of this. More
bridal,
somehow.

“Then it’s settled,” Kresley said in the authoritative tone Brooke recognized from countless staff meetings. “I’ll have to look at the budget before we nail down travel specifics, but Jake, you said a friend was flying you to Tennessee?”

“He’s a flight instructor, owns a Cessna Skyhawk.”

“What do you think he might charge for Brooke to go with you?” Kresley asked.

Brooke whipped her head around. “What?”

“As long as Jake doesn’t mind the extra company, I can approve Thursday and Friday out of the office and look into the budget for a hotel room.” Kresley shrugged. “It’s for work, but you’ll need to take your own pictures. I am not sending a photographer, too.”

That was no big deal—there were several staffers, Brooke included, who’d done double duty at the
Chronicle
before, getting the byline for both story and photos. Being sent away overnight with Jake McBride, however, seemed like a huge, towering, everything’s-bigger-in-Texas deal.

Brooke glanced at Giff. “You wouldn’t have a problem with this?”

He looked surprised by the question. “It would be silly for me to object—
I’m
the one who suggested you write it. Besides, it gives me that much more time to work around the clock guilt-free so I can clear my schedule for after the wedding.”

They planned to honeymoon in Puerto Vallarta,
Mexico, and also take a few days to get her moved into his house.

The thought of their honeymoon caused a strange twist in Brooke’s stomach—
maybe it’s anticipation
—and she turned to Jake. “We haven’t really confirmed that you’re okay with this. I—”

“Sure,” he said, surprising her with his easy agreement. He’d seemed less than enthusiastic when Kresley first proposed the article. “I don’t know that people really want to read about me, but if you and Kresley think so, then I’m happy to help. We can always kill time on the way up there swapping embarrassing stories about Giff.”

Brooke’s fiancé groaned good-naturedly. “Is it too late to change my answer?”

“Last I heard,” Jake told Kresley, “my buddy’s planning to drop me and one paying customer. A Skyhawk seats three in addition to the pilot. I’ll check with him and see if the space is still available. Since Brooke’s with me, I doubt Boom would charge more than a nominal fee, if that.”

“Boom?” Brooke echoed. He wanted her to put her livelihood and well-being in the hands of a grown man who answered to
Boom?
Wasn’t that the sound a plane made when it freaking crashed?

“When you say ‘drop,’” Brooke began, “you are just being colloquial, right? Before I even consider going, you have to promise there would be no parachutes involved.”

Amid chuckles around the table, Jake said, “No,
he’ll land the plane. There will be an actual runway and everything.”

“Good.” Because being around Jake already felt too much like a freefall.

J
AKE GLANCED UP AT THE STARS
, not that he could actually see any from the Grace’s backyard. That was one thing money couldn’t buy. The house was stunning, if you weren’t overwhelmed by three stories and the one or two formal rooms that looked like something from a magazine layout, but the night sky was largely blotted out by city lights and smog. Jake’s own modest home outside Houston and beyond Sugar Land didn’t have four bathrooms, but most nights he could find a half-dozen constellations without trouble.

After the live music that had been playing for the past three hours and the spirited conversations of guests, the yard was subdued now, with only the clatter of caterers packing up to compete with the sound of crickets. He’d made the offer to stick around and help clean, but since Grace was already paying other people to do that, there wasn’t much to be done.

Still she’d thanked him for the effort. “Such a good boy. Your mother must be so proud,” she’d added shrewdly.

He’d managed not to wince in guilt, but her seemingly innocent comment had hit home. He knew he should visit his parents, talk to them more at the very least. They’d been invited tonight, but by the time the party had been announced, Mrs. McBride had already made travel plans to go help her favorite aunt after a double
knee replacement. It had been implied that Mr. McBride wasn’t comfortable going solo to an event where there was an open bar, and Jake couldn’t bring himself to volunteer as the old man’s party parole officer.

Jake wanted to believe his mom’s optimism that his father would make it to—and beyond—his upcoming one-year anniversary of sobriety without slipping up, but it sounded too much like the false promises Jake had heard when he was younger. Even after long stretches of success, his dad had fallen off the wagon every time, each backslide more painful because of the hopeful months that had preceded it.

Giff had said that since Jake wasn’t in a hurry to leave, he should stick around and have a beer; it felt like they’d only seen each other in passing during the party. But given his bitter reminiscing about booze, Jake went inside and stopped his friend before Giff reached the refrigerator.

“On second thought, make mine a soft drink,” Jake said.

“Good thinking. It’s been a long night and we each still have to drive home.”

“Is your mom going to come down and join us?” No sooner had Jake finished his sentence than pipes above him creaked to life, the sound of a shower or bath being run upstairs.

“No,” Giff said with his head inside the fridge. “I told her I’d stick around until they’re finished outside and lock up for her. She’s beat. But happy! Did you see what a good time she was having tonight? She looked like herself again. It’s nice to see her laughing, socializing.”

Giff straightened and shut the door, then carried two bottled sodas from the fridge and brought them toward the oval kitchen table. Déjà vu struck Jake with the force of a blow.

How many times as a kid had he sat at this exact polished wooden surface, waiting for Giff to bring over drinks or snacks? He could almost smell Grace’s homemade brownies baking in the oven. In fourth grade, they’d done their math homework here. A few years later, they’d been making bets in the sun-filled kitchen on who could get a date first to the middle school Valentine’s Day dance. By high school, Jake was often included in family breakfasts on Saturdays, after staying the night at the Baker house following Friday’s football games. He had a vivid memory of Mr. Baker looking at him over Grace’s whimsical salt and pepper shakers and pronouncing, “I’m proud of you, son.”

The back of Jake’s throat burned. He’d thought recently that he’d never experienced that sense of being home—of truly belonging—but that was only half accurate. The Bakers had given him that gift. Except that he wasn’t
truly
one of them. At the end of the afternoon or even the end of the weekend, he’d always had to return to his real place. To the house with two bathrooms, neither of which included reliable plumbing, the mother with consistently swollen eyes she liked to pretend he couldn’t see and the raging alcoholic of a father.

Jake suddenly saw his shock over Giff’s engagement with new clarity. It wasn’t just disbelief over how quickly it had happened. He’d been projecting his inability to ever envision
himself
married. Giff, on the other hand,
had grown up at this table with parents who adored both him and each other.

Giff and Brooke would no doubt carry on that tradition, with a table of their own in some kitchen where Jake would be invited for birthdays and maybe an occasional Thanksgiving. Ignoring an unexpectedly fierce stab of resentment—
I’m better than that, I
want
him to be happy
—Jake admonished himself to get on board. He was supposed to be Giff’s wingman, to support him no matter what. The engagement wasn’t Jake’s decision to second-guess, and he needed to stop busting Giff’s chops.

Which was why he hated himself a little for saying, “You know who I was thinking about?”

“Give me a hint.”

“Veronica Dean.”

Giff let out a low whistle.

“Exactly.”

Both men had met Veronica right after high school graduation, but Jake had paused to wonder if he was good enough for her. Suffering no such compunction, Giff had asked her out first and the two of them had been hot and heavy until he left for College Station in the fall, after which their relationship had trailed to a natural conclusion.

Jake gestured with his bottle. “You were gaga over that woman. I remember the way you used to look at her.”

Giff grinned boyishly, momentarily channeling his eighteen-year-old self. “Can you blame me? It was
Veronica Dean
.”

“You don’t look at Brooke like that.” Saying it out loud felt like the worst kind of betrayal, but the resulting guilt didn’t make the words any less true.

“Dammit, Jake!” Giff slammed his bottle down on the table. The carbonated beverage immediately began to bubble and fizz up over the plastic. “I can’t believe this. I thought you finally liked Brooke—”

“I do.”

“—and now you ambush me with…what? The fact that I’ve
matured
since I was a horny teenager?”

“That wasn’t my—”

“If you’re looking for a way to suggest Brooke isn’t good enough for me, you should probably leave now.”

“That’s not at all what I meant,” Jake said in a low voice. The truth was that he’d heard Giff rhapsodize more about his mother’s joy in the engagement than Brooke’s. While Brooke and Giff seemed perfectly fond of each other, there was no evidence of more than that.

“Good. You’re going to have to accept Brooke.” Giff, looking ticked off but slightly less murderous, ran a hand through his hair. “Because this whole question of whether she deserves to marry into the ‘fabulous Baker’ family is ridiculous. That’s
your
issue, pal, not mine.”

Jake kept his mouth shut. Saying anything else would be as futile and potentially dangerous as throwing water on an electrical fire. Besides, there was no diplomatic way to explain that this was not a question of whether Brooke was deserving.

It was about
her
deserving
more
.